They paused beside the wooden post that marked the end of a row. Arsen squatted down to check the footings, making sure the base was solid. The vine was trained to the upright post and then horizontally along the wire, so gnarled it spoke of ancient times.
“Why do the vines look like this?” Lexi asked, curious.
“They’re old. And we don’t really grow them for the grapes.”
“Is this some kind of obstacle course?”
“Like the long walls of Piraeus,” Arsen said, speaking of the ancient walls that had become a symbol for the defiant Athens, destroyed by the Spartans, then rebuilt by the Persians. “Don’t touch that,” he added when she reached for the closest vine.
“Will it zap me?”
“To the moon, Slick, and I ain’t explaining that to Christan.”
Lexi removed her hand from where it hovered over green and golden leaves. “Did you notice the black car?” she asked as they turned toward the villa.
“The one at the end of the road?”
“Yes,” she said, bending into the climb. “It’s been there the entire time we’ve been checking out this part of Piraeus.”
“Too hot for sightseeing,” Arsen pointed out.
“Yeah, that’s what I thought.” Lexi followed him up the hill. “Oh, look. They’re leaving. Maybe they were just sightseeing.”
“Did they have a camera?”
“Too far to tell.”
“Then I can’t buy the whole sightseeing thing. Gotta have a big camera, Slick. Large enough to see.”
“And that’s why you get to be the warrior, Bucko, while I have to be the human. I don’t think like that.”
“Sucks for you.”
“Don’t tell Christan.”
“What?”
“That we were alone in a vineyard talking about sucking.”
A bark of laughter. “Damn, Slick, but Christan has his hands full with you.”
“Yeah, I know.” She grinned up at him. “You were starting to feel sorry for me.”
“Never that.” His big hand pushed the hair from her face and squeezed her shoulder. “Never that.”
CHAPTER 33
Italy was nothing if not steeped in history, and the interior of the sixteenth century villa was no exception. The two-story building had been modernized with each century, the architectural details faithfully restored. A massive fresco of a pastoral scene dominated the wall of the main salon. The bathrooms were a combination of antiquity and convenience. Working fireplaces were in many of the rooms but were rarely used for more than ambiance. There was an extensive library, and the chapel—reached by a short walk—as the villa had originally been built for a disgraced Bishop from Florence who’d been too flagrant in his opinions. There might also have been the odd parishioner now and then who kept low a profile.
Lexi stood in the doorway of the library and watched as Christan scanned through images on his laptop. He’d been working since he got back from his meeting. She knew he was troubled, but he wouldn’t confide. She’d left him to his solitude, but now she could sense his withdrawal. She thought it was a place where he existed as an Enforcer with responsibilities to perform. His phone chimed and he lifted it to his ear, listening in silence. The he murmured something in response. A moment later he was gone, slipping through a side door and disappearing outside.
Lexi went looking for him an hour later. She was wearing a sundress the color of lemons, and her favorite silver sandals, the ones Christan had removed on the little balcony. She’d showered, and her hair was slightly damp. The afternoon was sweet and warm and the scent of flowers hung thick in the air. The taste of sweet oranges slid elusively against her tongue.
Christan was in Gemma’s garden, sprawled on a padded chaise beneath an ancient tree. She could see the muscled contours of his body. He was so unyielding, this immortal who believed in justice but denied redemption for himself. The edge of his mouth had relaxed in sleep and she wanted to touch him, tease him into smiling. Ease the worry from his mind.
Her breathing hitched.
Christan turned his head and her heart seized.
“Come here,” he said.
The hunger compelled her, but he was being an enforcer, now, and used to obedience. Lexi skimmed her fingers through the flowers that edged the path, taking enough time so he knew the choice was hers. When she reached the side of the chaise he touched her, trailing his fingers lightly against the sensitive skin behind her knee.
“I will always know you,” he said roughly. “No matter what life. No matter where on this earth, cara, I will always know you are the twin flame of my soul.”
Her voice shook as she whispered, “As I know you, Christan.”
His hand moved higher, one finger hooking around the edge of her panties. He gave a gentle tug.
“Take them off.”
Slowly, Lexi lifted one foot and slipped off a sandal, then removed the mate. Without taking her eyes from his face she slid her hands beneath the dress. A decadent moment later and the panties joined the sandals in the shade.
Christan made a taut sound deep in his throat. An answering heat moved up Lexi’s belly. The breeze lightly teased the strands of her hair, lifting them around her face. Warmth was what she felt. Heat. A carnal need for him in the open air as he’d once described to her, with the shade and the sun and the heady scent of flowers in the air.
The hunger grew as she slid over him, settling against the heavy ridge beneath his jeans. His erection throbbed. Her eyes grew languid. The yellow skirt of the dress lifted and fluttered out like butterfly wings.
The abrasion of rough denim became an intimate caress. He lifted his hips, pressing where she needed the pressure. When she arched back, his hands circled her waist, then slid over the soft material to her breasts. She was helpless, snared by the flex and power of his body as he pleasured her.
Sunlight danced through the shadows, animating the expression on Christan’s angled face. Lexi felt so connected to him her chest ached. Her hands traced up his arms, found his hands. His eyelids dropped with suspicion; her fingers laced with his, pushing his arms above his head. She leaned forward to hold them there, thrilling at the way he watched her, allowing the small dominance and remaining so still she wasn’t sure he even breathed.
“Don’t move,” she commanded, not releasing him until she saw that curious obedience in his eyes. She liked her new-found control. Her hands slid beneath her skirt, found the top button on his jeans. With deliberate slowness she released him, touched him. This Enforcer who made men tremble now drew in a ragged breath. Her fingers circled, her fist closed, and she used the exquisite pressure she’d learned from him. He was so thick, so hot as her hand moved up and down. The yellow skirt concealed her seduction until beads of moisture gathered at the broad head. She lifted her body and guided him inside.
Slowly, she sank down, taking him completely, her hands finding his again and holding him in place. He’d been so obedient, even when she saw him struggle. He filled her and her body stretched in response, the growing pressure an exquisite torture. His eyes were closed, a look of control on his face so intense she moved her hips to see how far she could go. His arms tightened, the muscles hard and the veins visible, but his body remained steady. He would not move until she gave him permission. Her dress swayed and continued to keep their secret.
Lexi leaned forward, her hair forming a veil around them. She knew he loved it. Her breath quickened on the soft, desperate sounds in her throat that she tried to hide. Inner muscles tightened. God, she needed that feeling, asked him for it. The answer came with powerful thrusts, again and again, big hands anchoring until her breathing nearly stopped and her eyes closed in utter concentration. She gripped his shoulders while her head dropped forward. Every flex, every penetration and retreat fueled the feverish need until nothing else existed but this movement, these sensations, the mutual reaching for release.
When the tiny, skittering sound carried from across the garden, Lexi didn’t realize what it was.